Dominic
Man, this girl was sexy. There she was as we entered, all startled in her sexy little bathrobe and fluffy slippers. And then, as soon as she noticed Thunder, she was all business.
“She’d actually make a good Broken Spire,” I thought as I saw how coolly and collectedly she handled bandaging Thunder. She also didn’t ask any questions about what got the two of us in this state.
She was learning. Fast.
Then, she took me into the shower with her. It was very strange. Half the time she seemed so vulnerable––stricken, almost––and the other half she seemed as hard and confident as a dominatrix. I sensed a deep strength emerging within her, the way a budding, unstoppable green emerges in spring.
Then, she told me she had missed me.
That made my heart skip a beat so that I was thankful for the buzzing of the shower, to hide the sound of it. I was used to stupid strumpets professing their love to me. I swear, it happened once a month, and I usually shot them down with (often merciless) ease. But this was different. This wasn’t some groupie trying to latch onto me like a parasite, interested only in my power and money, or even just the “idea” of me. The more I saw her in action, the more I realized she was too good for that. This was another human being––one, I suspected, I might even be willing to consider an equal––telling me, in her own way, that she had feelings for me. What was I to say?
“Say you’ve missed her, too,” a boyish, enthusiastic voice cried in my head. “Be honest. She’s all you’ve been thinking about!”
Then, a tough, angry voice retorted, “No! That’s not fit for the president of the Broken Spires, falling in with some sort of goody-two-shoes.”
“Wait a minute,” a third, and final voice interrupted. This voice sounded the most like me. “You’re not going to be the president much longer. You’re retiring, remember? Sandy beaches? Peace and quiet?”
I looked at Erica. She seemed the kind of girl who could also handle peace and quiet. The thought struck me like a blow. All my life until this point, I had lived my life a certain way and pursued a certain kind of girl. But I did not have to be that person any longer.
“I’ve missed you, too,” I said at last, and her smile made my eyes as happy her tits and perfect little pussy––down amid flowing water––did.
Speaking of which. Emotions are all well and good, but now was the time for fucking.
I asked her, shower or bedroom, and she, like the good little slut she was, insisted on the bedroom. Not that there is really a wrong answer to that question. It’s the enthusiasm––her longing for cock––that is important.
On the way to the bedroom, I decided, “To hell with all this nicety crap,” and I scooped her right up and sprinted there, with her in my arms. She giggled and whooped with delight, then rushed a quick finger to her mouth.
“Shh!” She whispered. “Thunder is sleeping, remember? We have to be quiet.”
I grinned, and hurled her on the bed. “I’d like to see you try.”
And then, I was upon her.
Her body slapped against mine as I dove on top of her, feeling the soft cushion of her breasts and her firm little nipples pushing into my chest.
I kissed her fiercely, feeling my cock swelling and stiffening until it ran the length from her pussy to her belly button, hot and hard against her skin. I longed to ram it into her, but forced myself to slow down, to delay.
“What’s wrong?” She groaned, her voice muffled beneath my weight. “Put it in me.”
“Not yet,” I moaned back, my hands massaging her tits. “I want to work you up first. Work you into a frenzy. A hot pussy is a pussy that can take it harder and longer.”
She laughed, then plunged her hand between us like a snake making a strike. She fastened it around my shaft and squeezed. “More wisdom from a man like you,” she chuckled, running her grip up and down the length of me. “Let’s see if I can work you up just as much.”
She shifted, and as if I read her mind, I knew exactly what she wanted.
Whoosh.
I threw myself beneath her, and, by using the strength of her thighs, she clung to me and whirled on top. She sat on me, the warm wetness already starting to leak from inside her warming my testicles. My cock pointed straight up, like a monolith, and she grabbed it again and pressed it against her soft, flat tummy. She bent over to kiss me, her nipples grazing my chest, and I could feel the pressure of my dick boring into her, like a bludgeon. She lifted her hips, and ran it against the outside of her pussy. When she pulled away, the tip of my dick was wet and glistening.
“You like that?” She asked, and I reveled in seeing her so sure, so confident. This was a woman learning to take what she wanted.
And what she wanted, of course, was my dick.
Still holding onto me like a sailor would steady herself on a mast, she wiggled down between my legs, nestled against my thighs, and popped it into her mouth. She then preceded to suck me like a lollipop, all childish glee and enthusiasm.
“Mmmm,” she moaned, the vibrations from her throat titillating me. “I did miss your taste.”
“Me, too!” I groaned, and with one savage surge of my muscles, I seized her by the hips and hurled her over me. Her lips fastened around my tip, keeping her anchored there, but her knees ended up on either side of my face, her thighs pinching my ears, and her pussy open in all its beautiful, glistening glory right before me.
“Oh, yeah,” I murmured, then dove in.
Her taste was sweet and salty, like ice-cream at the beach. In the moment the tip of my tongue touched her clit she moaned, and spread her legs wider, offering me the greatest depth of her. My hands reached up to her breasts, alternating between flicking her nipples and massaging the meat of them, and running her tips over my chest.
I could feel her trembling with pleasure. It distracted her, and she lost her rhythm in sucking my cock, her tongue scrambling for purchase as she fought down the moans pushing their way out of her throat. I resisted chuckling, and continued my exploration of her pussy: her clit, like a tiny little raisin, her lips, like warm slices of fruit pulled out of mulled wine. I kissed her, and pressed into her, and sucked her, and soon felt my face coated with wetness. In time, I noticed her matching my rhythm. When I plunged deep, she plunged deep. When I flicked her with my tongue, she flicked me with her tongue. I paused long enough to grin.
“You’re my toy now,” I thought. “Without saying a word, I can command your every movement.”
“How you doing?” I asked teasingly, knowing the answer.
“I…ah…” She moaned back, barely coherent.
I pulled away, giving her pussy a final kiss. She was ready.
With another great surging of muscle, I flung her back beneath me, and spun her around. Her eyes took a moment to focus, so lost was she in the pleasure of me eating her out. At last, they centered on me.
“Now can I have some cock?” She pouted.
I grinned at her. “You little slut.” And I rammed it inside her.
She was so wet and ready for it that I slipped in easily, the tight muscles of her pussy opening up to accept me balls deep. She moaned, her eyes rolling back into the whites as she threw her arms over her head.
Her breasts perked, drawing lovely circles with the pinkness of her nipples. Loving the look of helplessness, of submission, I grabbed her wrists and pressed her hands down still further, pinning her beneath me.
“Oh, yeah,” I grunted, and rammed it into her time and time again. This was a good position. Below, her thighs wrapped around my hips, pulling her close, inviting me in, while above it appeared a position of total subjugation. We were not fucking. I was fucking her, and she was taking it like the good little slut she was.
Suddenly, it occurred to me that because she was such a good little slut, obviously she would want to do some of the work. Sucking cock wasn’t enough. I wanted to see her muscles flex and her chest pounding with exertion.
“Ride me!” I ordered, and after one final, jamming thrust I pulled out of her, and wrest her on top of me. For a moment, she seemed dazzled, and had to claw herself steady by digging her fingernails into my skin.
I did not mind. Pinpricks of pain amid tidal waves of pleasure.
She flexed her thighs, lifted herself up, and slammed down atop of me. We were both so wet that I slipped immediately inside her, without the smallest guidance. She moaned, and threw her head back as if she were going to howl like a wolf. Her hand gripped at the rippling muscles of my abdomen as she fought for purchase with every sweeping dip and peak of her body. I felt her cumming, again and again, in the sudden clasping of her pussy and the wash of sweet wetness that rolled down my shaft on her up-thrust and soaked my balls.
Her forehead became dewy. Her skin was hot, and she panted, working so hard to work the tip, my shaft, my base, all with the expert rhythm of her pussy. Overwhelmed, she threw her hands up over her hand and scooped her hair from her face. Her sex hair was messy. Her sex hair was damp. Her sex hair was magnificent. And her tits, raised from the positioning of her arms, even more so.
The sight was overwhelming me. I felt my pleasure cresting, threatening to burst. I didn’t want that. Not yet.
“Turn around, Erica!” I demanded. “Turn around!”
She did. By lifting her legs up, she was able to spin around like a record on a record player until her back was to me. Her tiny waist and wide, full hips were amazingly sexy, but I was able to keep my cool enough to focus once again on fucking, rather than cumming.
“Oooooh, wow!” She exclaimed, her hands biting into my thighs.
“Deep?”
“So deep!”
She thrust and rocked, wiggled and bounced, and I felt her pleasure through the trembling of her body, the volume of her screams.
“Poor Thunder,” I thought. Then: “Eh, he’ll get over it.”
She paused. Her whole body arched up as if electrified, and I felt a great, spasming convulsion of her pussy as she came magnificently. More wetness––not just a trickle, but a flood––streamed out of her, spattering my junk all the way to my thighs. She sagged, a puppet with its strings cut, and tumbled off of me.
“Wooooow,” she murmured. I grinned, kissed her sweaty brow, and rolled on top of her.
“If you’re finished with me, now it’s my turn to be finished with you,” I said. And once again, I began to fuck her.
This time, however, it was different. It was not the relentless pounding we were used to, but a slow, steady rhythm, like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. I slid in and out of her, enjoying her supreme wetness, the twitching echoes of her orgasm moments before. Her hands wrapped around my shoulders, while mine scooped under her back as I rocked myself to completion on top of her.
“Oh, Erica,” I moaned. “You’re so sexy…”
And I came inside her.
She gasped, her eyes rolling back as I pumped shot after shot inside her. When I was finished, I remained within, collapsing on top of her and relishing the sweet feeling of diminishment as my cock, satiated, softened and slid out from her pussy. She gasped as it broke contact, as if a part of her, rather than of me, had slipped away.
I rolled beside her, and she nuzzled up to me, her face against my chest, her legs entwined with mine.
“That was fun,” she breathed after a moment’s silence, as our hearts slowed back to normal.
“Damn right,” I responded.
We kissed, and then held each other in our arms.
It was then that I noticed the strangest thing––something that I had seen very rarely before in my lifetime. The sex had been amazing, of course, but I have had plenty of great sex in my adventures. What struck me, however, was this: as fulfilling as the sex was, this––just lying together in each other’s arms––was just as fulfilling. The realization astonished me.
“This…is nice,” I commented, somewhat lamely.
Erica nodded.
“It is,” she replied. “Something about this just feels so…right.”
Right.
I thought of the word and its meaning. How could this be right, when there was so much wrong going on? Thunder lying with a gunshot wound, in just the next room. The Broken Spires on the brink of a heist that I worried they weren’t ready for, for something…something was missing. The Crooked Jaws, increasing their power, and not just with simpler things like drug dealing and taking over seedy bars, but the far more nefarious side of motorcycle clubs, things that the Broken Spires would never resort to. Child slavery. Prostitution. Child pornography. Evil, wicked things.
The cops couldn’t keep them in check. Hell, I had a lurking suspicion that the cops––at least some of them––were working with the Crooked Jaws. No, it was up to us––the Broken Spires––to keep them in check. All of this, so, so wrong.
And yet?
Lying her, in Erica’s arms, I felt strangely at peace. I wondered if it was strange that when Thunder and I were in trouble, my first instinct was to go to her. Was this what I really craved? Peace and safety with a woman like Erica?
I shook my head, chasing these thoughts away. Fit for the president of the Broken Spires or not, they were very unfamiliar to me. Perhaps, I thought, it’s best if Thunder and I leave now. I’d better go check on him.
By this point, Erica was already asleep. Carefully, I extricated myself from her arms and slipped quietly to the guest bedroom, where Thunder was sleeping. I knocked gently, and then, when there was no answer, I quietly slipped my head inside.
He was sound asleep.
“Thunder,” I hissed. “Hey, Thunder! Come on, it’s time to leave––”
“Ooo-ahhhhh…” The sound of a yawn interrupted. I turned, and watched as Erica shifted in the bed, her arms closing around the space where I used to be, until she hugged herself. A soft scowl crossed her eyes, as if she sensed and was annoyed by my absence.
I smiled, and shook my head. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to stay until morning.”
Carefully, I closed the door to Thunder’s room and slipped quietly back to bed.